Weare an ocean apart, but virus makes distance greater

By Yasmin Acosta

SPECIAL TO THE ARIZONA DAILY STAR

It is 9:42 p.m. I reach for my phone and as I scroll to the left on my home screen, the first thing I notice is the word 'countdown' at the top. I've been so dependent on this digital application to feel a sense of hope.

Earlier this year, I counted down the days until I could see my boyfriend Quentin again, but I don't have that option anymore. He lives in France.

On March 11, COVID-19 was declared a pandemic by the World Health Organization. On that same day, President Trump announced a travel ban that restricted any entry into the United States from the Schengen Area, which includes France.

Shortly after that the European Union put in place travel restrictions for Americans as a measure to contain the coronavirus.

Anxiety and doubt filled my mind following that March news.

I remember making an oat milk cappuccino for a customer at work but thinking a million miles per hour: How serious is the virus, what if I get sick, what if a loved one gets sick and what measures will we take if we do? When will I see Quentin again — will the ban be in place all summer long — if we don't see each other this summer, then… when?

'I felt that it was kind of (a) fragile situation to be not in the same country,' Quentin said.

To some extent, we are all facing tentative experiences this year. Life has shown to be challenging on so many new levels.

People have lost loved ones, their jobs, income and livelihood to the pandemic.

When Quentin and I first decided that we would travel to see each other oceans apart in our long-distance relationship, we understood that meant we would have to face hardships.

We made a mutual decision early on that we would see each other at least every six months.

We will see each other soon.

These words normally kept us sane and going during our time apart.

That hopeful expectation has been taken away from us.

Today, we share the struggle of other binational couples separated by COVID-19.

On January 13, we shared a goodbye kiss in Bordeaux. I boarded the bus – I had a plane to catch the next morning in Paris – back to America.

Seats were left to fill on that eight-hour bus ride, and I wished that he could sit next to me and travel back with me to my home country.

I sat alone most of that ride, reminiscing on our amazing winter. We enjoyed beautiful moments together, like visiting his childhood home in La Rochelle.

Goodbye has never been an easy thing to do, no matter how many times we do it and had I known then I'd be waiting so long to see him, it would have been harder. See, that was almost eight months ago.

Quentin has always been the more rational thinker in our relationship, and in my lowest moments since COVID-19, he picked me up by saying, 'When you don't have a choice, you just manage.'

It's been 231 days since the last time I saw Quentin. At some point after I knew I could no longer count down the days until I could see Quentin, something changed.

I found a new sense of hope — I started counting up the days. I realized that counting up gave me strength. With every additional day we are apart and still managing I realize wow we can do this.

We could be considered oldtime experts at being apart. We have finessed the long-distance communication and we have the tools to make this distance work.

Facetime hangouts are made special for example. We love sushi, so we'll order takeout from our favorite sushi spots, open a bottle of wine and share a meal together.

Our current situation is temporary but our love is permanent, and so while COVID-19 has extended the time we anticipated apart, we will get through this.

And I'll have another countdown to look forward to soon.

Yasmin Acosta is a double major student studying journalism and French at the University of Arizona.

Yasmin Acosta